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MalReynolds 09-16-2005 12:47 AM

I don't post enough stories anymore...
 
I was pouring over a list of my works and comparing it to things I had put on here, and I realized that this one had slipped through the cracks.

There's set up to this. The beginning of my Senior year, my teacher assinged a paper on Oedipus for the class to write. I didn't really want to do it, so I didn't. A few days after the due date, I felt guilty and decided to write an excuse note... Which is where my story begins.


---

Oh, I had full well intention of turning in my paper on Friday, the day it was due, but my story, no matter how unbelievable it may seem, did happen. I'm not one to lie, go to; especially about grades, but this story, upon re-circulation and reaching my ears, sounded as much fiction as I knew it to be fact.
As improbable as it may seem, I had my paper in hand as I drove to school on the cold, crisp morning of the 22nd. The heater in my car was on, making visibility somewhat limited, given the dirty (to say the least) state of my windshield, so I was taking my time, not wanting to hinder my passage to school with anything so serious as a thump of mortality.
Sadly, as most plans go, this one was with faults, and it wasn't before long that I had completely lost myself in the back streets of Salisbury. As the dashboard clock read closer and closer to 7:25, I sped my vehicle up, not wanting to garner another tardy which would have no doubt led to an office referral or worse.
Speeding up wasn't the worst part of my day, although it was a start. What one doesn't know about the seedy underbelly of Salisbury is that the rich upper class are only supported by a healthy trade of drug runners, motorcycle gangs, and ninjas. Of the three groups that let me and countless others live in peace and laziness, the ninjas are the group that you don't want to tango with. And I mean that literally. They're horrible dancers.
The sound a body makes when it hits the hood of a car is horrifying. It sounds like someone dropping a bag of wet meat and potatoes onto a vessel of two tons moving at fifty miles an hour. And, unfortunately for me, and all that were involved, the two-ton vessel that was moving at fifty miles an hour was my Corsica, and the bag of wet meat and potatoes was the Ninja King, out for his morning jog.
I immediately applied my brakes, the sound of burning rubber resounding like a gunshot throughout the haven, before my car came to a jolting halt, ten feet down the road. I prayed that I had hit a squirrel, or a deer, but I was just feeding myself lies. No deer in his right mind yells "DOMO! ACK! A CAR!"
Silent uncounted tears rolled down my face as I unbuckled, pushing the door open, and cutting on my emergency blinkers. As I stood, I could hear the man I hit yelling for help, that his leg was broken, why wasn't someone helping him? I sprinted over to him, and eventually past him. It's a ninja's prerogative, apparently, to dress in all black, all the time, even during a morning jog so that they may stealthily run, avoid assassination, or get hit by my car.
I backtracked, standing over him, not knowing what to do, until he loudly whispered, "Michael-Kun, lean down."
I was in an obedient mood.
"Michael-Kun, this is no way for a ninja to die."
"Oh, Ninja-King-Kun, I know not how ninjas die."
"Michael-Kun, take my sword and finish the job."
"Ninja-King-Kun! I cannot!"
He coughed. "Please. it is. the wish of a dying man, Michael-Kun."
Upon this, he removed his mask, revealing him to be none other than my neighbor, whose name has been changed to protect the Ninja Clan.
"Oh, Mr. Trickilisophigus!"
"Please, Michael-Kun."
As I said earlier, I was feeling obedient. I was told once of a legend of a woman named Beatrix, and her fixation upon completing a revenge quest against a man named William. In the process, she had a sword made that was said to cut through bone like butter, and was made by a man whose name is only whispered in legend: Hattori Hanzo.
If there had been a second place, if Hattori Hanzo had turned her down, then this sword would have been the one to grace her hands, but instead, it was in mine this fateful day, and I whispered a soft prayer and plunged it into the once Ninja-King's chest.
Now, among all the chaos, as one scholar would later note, in the bushes watching this cataclysmic event, was another ninja, Hajinku-San. Unfortunately, Hajinku-San was born deaf, and only saw what his eyes would allow. He saw the murder of his Ninja King by nothing more than a slave to the Salisbury hierarchy, and he took this information back to the Onaga Clan Headquarters in the Country Club.
As Hajinku-San was born deaf, he had to draw out what happened, as the other Ninjas that had been assembled had to guess what was going on. They eventually figured it out after a rousing game of charades. I only know this because the sword granted me powers to view a portal in the Onaga Clan Headquarters, monitoring all of their actions.
Sadly, it just looked like ninja rest and relaxation time to me, so I dragged the King's body to my car, and set it in the backseat, where it promptly evaporated as all ninja corpses do after a while. Being as shaken as I was, it was my duty to get to the police station and inform them of what happened, however unbelievable it may have been. The blood and ninja- cloak bits on my car should have been evidence enough.
But I never reached the police station.
I was back on Winterfield Road, driving to the Fire Station, when out of nowhere, my back left tire blew out, shooting rubber all over the empty road. I gently applied my brakes, turned the wheel towards the curb, and slowed my car down, before getting out for the second and last time.
Taking my time, already way late for school, I approached the blowout, hunkering down to inspect what may have caused my tire to outwardly explode in such a manner. What I found disturbed, and frightened me. It was a silver shuriken. I suddenly became aware of my surroundings, the birds in the trees, the bee beside me, and the reflection I saw in my car door.
With a swift spinning sweep kick, I sent the ninja to the ground, half on and half off the cold pavement. I lunged, completely covering him, making my hands find their way to his throat, slowly cutting off his air supply. When I was sure he tapped out, I let go, before breathlessly getting back to my feet, facing the door, ready to get the sword out.
He wasn't out. He hit me in the back with a tonfa, knocking the wind out of me, and brought it across my neck trying to strangle me. I elbowed him twice in the ribs, before kicking him backwards. In his dark apparel, he stood in the road, preparing to run back at me, when a car out for a devil's drive knocked him out of his ninja shoes.
Slowly, with consideration, I picked up the tonfa and put it into my belt loop before getting sword out of the back of my car. I sprinted up to road, trying to get to the local convenience store so I could use a payphone to call the police. Entering any of the houses that were in these neighborhoods was death. This was Ninja territory. I finally reached the soccer field that graces the assisted living home, two football fields away from Lucky's.
But they were in the trees that lined the field.. And they had shurikens.
I felt one fly past my face, cutting the air, before I sprang into action, pulling the tonfa out of my belt loop, and trying my hardest to baseball these tiny discs of death away. Before long, I was spinning in circles, catching the shurikens in the tonfa, until one found it's mark, slicing through my shoulder.
The pain was searing, and I wondered if they had added a burning agent. Not a lot else went through my head, except, "Oh god, how could I have dropped the tonfa." The Ninja's were circling around me, coming in to finish the kill with as much honor as was allowed for a peon like me.
Their ritual was their undoing.
I dropped down, picking up the tonfa, and spinning as fast as I could, the shurikens became dislodged and flew into the Ninjas, striking them all in the chest.
I inhaled sharply, holding the dissected tonfa in front of me, until all of them dropped. Then I ran.
Lucky's looked closed, and it probably was. It didn't open until around eight on regular days, and this day was on high alert for Ninja attacks. That was okay, the payphone was on the outside. I had no change, but it was free to call the police on a local payphone, so I began to dial.
9.
1.
The front of the phone box slid off, pouring coins around my feet, before I jumped back, narrowly missing the blade. I ducked under a slice that would no doubt have cleaved my skull, when I brought out my Ninja sword, and cut his blade to the hilt. He turned to run, but I delivered a square round house kick to his back, which sent him flying into the gas pumps. I ran like a bat out of hell, knowing that any second.
The explosion washed over me in heated waves, bronzing my skin. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my muscles permitted me to stand. A man in a black trench-coat approached me, holding out his hand.
"Excuse me, does this rag smell like chloroform to you?"
"Hold on just a second."
I leaned in, inhaled, and fell for the oldest trick in the book.

I awoke I know not how much later, but I was surrounded by big, burly men in leather sleeveless jackets, all who had impeccably bad moustaches and spiked bracelets. I screamed and bolted up, before rolling off the hospital bed and onto the floor, retching.
"Michael, calm down. You're okay."
"What the hell is this?!"
"We're with the PAGANS, People Against Guns and Nice. something. or. We haven't come up with the N or the S. But we're the motorcycle gang."
"Thank God, I was being chased by ninjas. It was horrible."
"We know. We've been watching."
"Why the hell didn't you help me?!"
"Because, it's not time for us to go against them. You know they rule most of Salisbury, right?"
"Of course. I've lived here all my life."
"Then what you don't know is that the PAGANS founded Salisbury, before it was wrought from our hands by the Ninjas. They brought the drug dealers in for the opium trade. And we were cast aside, useless in our own world."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"We need you. To help us take out the Ninjas."
"This has nothing to do with me!"
"You have unlimited untapped potential! You're the first one we've seen take out a field of ninjas. all at the same time. using the dreaded Shuriken-Encrusted-Tonfa Spin of Death. Even the most highly trained Ninja's have failed to pull that off."
"No. I can't help you."
"Then. I regret to inform you that you will have to die. It's a shame, so much potential."
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable shotgun blast, but it never came. When I opened my eyes, the bikers had shurikens embedded deep in their skin.
They were everywhere.
"Michael-Kun, in response to the murder of our leader, Ninja-King- Kun, you face the penalty of death. by Ninja Sword action."
I once again closed my eyes and braced myself for the cold blade, when an explosion rocked the room. The wall to my left was shattered, and there stood a group of men in ratty trench coats, all looking impeccably unshaven, craving their next fix.
The Dealers were here.
I rolled under the bed as the Ninja Execution Squad was torn to pieces by volley after volley of gunfire from the Dealers. On the floor was the shotgun that Bruno was going to use to put me down, and I grabbed it, cracking the barrel and checking both shots. The Dealers were making their way to the hall, and I looked out the gaping hole in the wall.
I was in Salisbury Presbyterian Church. And it was time I kicked ass for the lord.
The feel of a shotgun firing against your shoulder, especially a shoulder that had been sliced by a ninja star was painful, but the just retribution it delivered was reward enough.
Both barrels empty, I grabbed my sword from the bedside, jumping onto the gurney, avoiding gunfire from the Dealers as the wheeled bed rolled out into the hall. I grabbed a decorative shield off the wall, and turned around, bracing myself as they fired into the shield, which ricocheted their shots back at them. I ran towards their falling bodies, deftly grabbing what firearms I could, but all they carried were small pieces, nine millimeters and the like. But it would be enough.
I ran to the front of the Church, heading up the stairs as I heard bikers running for the wall breach, but one good shot brought down the chandelier onto their biking heads. I vaulted the railing, and headed for the front door, flinging it open.
It was a war zone out there. Dealers were firing at Ninjas, Ninjas were throwing and cutting Bikers, and Bikers were slaughtering Dealers. An explosion rocked the church, sending debris all over the crowd.
I took cover in a tree and made my shots count, but they seemed to be uniting against the common enemy.
Me.
My arm grew tired as I continued to combat with the broken tonfa and the sword, but there were simply too many. I had to give up, but I had to take out as many of them as I could. I had to make sure none escaped.
With my last ounce of strength, I hurled the sword into the road, where it stuck in the round. The hilt began to turn, and a projected image appeared above it. It was a message left from the actual founders of Salisbury, the Alien Toodooga race.
"Come here, children. You were founded not by Ninjas or Bikers or Opium Runners, but us. The Aliens. Now, watch closely. closer."
A brilliant beam of light was emitted, singeing the eyes of all that saw it. I, thankfully, was in-between waves of Ninja fighters. They all collapsed to the ground screaming.
They all writhed on the ground, and I carefully made my way back into the church, placing a phone call to the police station. It was time to end this.
The police showed up with six paddy wagons and arrested the survivors, and the fire trucks came to put out the Molotov cocktail fires. I was huddled under a police blanket.
I was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor that weekend for ending the drug rings, the Ninja Crime Syndicate, and the PAGANS, all selflessly with little care for my own well being.
In the course of events that transpired on the 22nd, I came to realize that I was a little bit Ninja, Biker, and Dealer.
And I think we all are.
And during the medal of honor ceremony, a dog got into my car and ate my paper.

--

I turned it in. My teacher laughed when I handed in a five page excuse note. Later, I was reccommended by her to MC the Senior Faculty basketball game, write a senior play and host Project Percussion... So, a total act of being a dumbass booked me some integral gigs.

Mal

nickadeemus 09-16-2005 02:50 AM

RE: I don
 
It was an enjoyable read.

MalReynolds 09-16-2005 12:10 PM

RE: I don
 
My teacher thought so, too. Instead of getting a 0, I got a 50. Not passing, but still.

Mal

esupin 09-16-2005 07:34 PM

RE: I don
 
Legendary.

Omeganitros 09-17-2005 02:18 AM

RE: I don
 
I saved that story to my hard drive.

The_Q 09-17-2005 12:04 PM

RE: I don
 
You have officially won my respect and admiration. For all time. Mainly for that last line.

Q

chickendude 09-17-2005 12:16 PM

RE: I don
 
wow
*speechless*


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